Mr Darcy
by I'm Like Pleated Pants
Summary: Gen has spent her whole life searching for her own Mr.Darcy, but is left feeling like it will never happen for her. She isn't reassured when she meets Carlton Lassiter. But then she can't help but notice the similarites between him and a certain character
1. Introduction

**Mr. Darcy  
>Introduction<strong>

This is all Jane Austen's fault. She is the reason why I am pushing thirty and still single-no one but my dog, an Irish wolfhound named Sheldon, to keep me company. But honestly, if that woman hadn't been such a genius, I would completely hate her. My entire life and all of my books would consist of one long rant about how she is the reason why I am on the fast track to becoming an old maid.

Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit here. At twenty-seven and six months I'm not _exactly_ pushing thirty yet – I still have a few years before that can become a source of anxiety. And though I may still be far from becoming an old maid, nothing can change the fact that I headed in that direction.

And it's all because of Jane Austen and that damned book!

_Pride & Prejudice__._ It's been my favorite book since I first read it in the seventh grade. Ever since I read it that first time, my standards for men have been slightly higher than what society tells us is realistic. I've been searching for my Mr. Darcy when I should have been looking for the Average Mr. Right. But the Novelist Genevieve that dominates my brain constantly strives to relate all everyday experiences to either my own writings or to my favorite books. Anything that doesn't remind me of a book or isn't thrilling enough to be put into a book simply will not do. But the sad truth is that this is a horrible method for making friends. The extent of my social circle is my dog, my sister and her husband, and my college best friend Lauren Lassiter.

And another sad truth? There is no living man on this Earth that can even come close to being as perfect as Jane Austen's Fitzwilliam Darcy.

So, I have two options: I can face facts and set some realistic standards-which would allow for increased socialization and the potential for finding someone to settle down and start a family with-Or I can continue searching for my own Mr. Darcy and ultimately end up being a crazy dog lady for the rest of my life.

Most people would go with option one. But considering the behavior of ninety-nine percent of people in this crap-sack of a planet and the limited dating experience I have, I'm just better off growing old with Sheldon and whatever other pets I will ultimately end up bringing home.

Crazy dog lady is definitely the better option.

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><p><strong>There you have it! The introduction to my new Psych story! I'm rather excited for it, if I do say so myself. What do you guys think? And I can't end this note without thanking my beta, Olivia94. She is fabulous (:<strong>

**I hope to hear from you guys! And, assuming that I don't get too much of a workload during my first week at school, I will hopefully be posting the next part soon. Any comments or questions, feel free to review, or you can PM me if you wish.**

**Love, Meagan**


	2. Chapter 1

**Mr. Darcy**

**Chapter One: My Kind of Town**

I took another look around my new living room. It had taken all night and three pots of coffee, but I had finally unpacked everything. Normal people would've spread unpacking over a few days, but since when have I ever been normal? Besides, I had plans for the next few days, and I didn't want to have to worry about finding time to unpack the rest of my junk. Not only did I have a new book to start working on, but I had to make the rounds and let everyone know I had moved back to Santa Barbara.

Moving had been kind of a last minute decision. New York got old fast. And then D.C. after that. And Baltimore after that. Bangor, Maine; Seattle, Washington; Las Vegas, Nevada. Nothing felt like home. So I went for the obvious solution: I got Sheldon and all my things into the Santa Fe and we took a cross-country road trip back home and bought an apartment. A perfectly normal pattern of behavior. Right?

Anyway, I felt satisfied that all my things were exactly as I wanted them-Although there was no doubt that, come my first emotional turmoil in Santa Barbara, there would be a burst of OCD during which time I would rearrange every single room in the apartment. This would be followed up by a week spent locked inside my office typing away at my laptop, only leaving to take Sheldon for his daily walk.

Trust me, this is spot on how it would happen. As my mother used to say, "The strangest people are always the most predictable. You are living proof of this, Gennie Quinn."

"Alright, Sheldon," I slapped my hands down on my thighs and patted the black and gray Irish Wolfhound on his head before kissing his nose. "Momma's gotta go for a little while, but I'll be right back, okay? Don't throw any wild parties – I saw you eyeing up that labradoodle down the hall – and don't tear the place up, got it?" I gave him one more kiss and a scratch behind his ear. "See ya later, Moose."

I don't know why I gave him that nickname. It was fairly inaccurate. He looked more like a small horse than a moose.

Sheldon gave me the sad puppy eyes as I grabbed my keys and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. I responded with an apologetic look accompanied by a wave before heading out the door and locking it behind me.

**OooOoOO**

It took half an hour to drive from my apartment to my sister's house on the coast. It looked just as it had the last time I visited (almost two years before), there were toys strew throughout the front yard, chalk drawings on the front walk, and Braylen's Expedition parked in the driveway. I felt a small pang of jealousy in the back of my mind as I pulled up, but I quickly shoved that thought away. A husband and kids would just put a dent into my writing time, I tried to tell myself as I turned off the car, cutting off Frank Sinatra in the middle of Witchcraft.

I had to take a deep breath once I reached their front door. That same jealousy that I had just shoved away had been what caused Harmony and I to fight two years before. Part of me realized that she might not want to see me.

"But this is part of why you came back, isn't it?" Maureen Adams, the main character in my most recent murder mystery series, spoke up from her home in my imagination. When I first started the series, we only really talked while I was working on the books or doing research for them. But since about the middle of the third book, she had begun to make her presence known during my daily life as well. I guess it's true what they say: all writers are at least slightly insane.

"You miss her and you want to make things better. Besides, you don't know for sure that she doesn't want to see you. You won't know until you knock on that door," Maureen went on. As usual, she made sense. That's the funny thing about fictional characters. They always know exactly what to say and when to say it.

They'd never cut their sisters off because they're jealous that their younger sibling is happily married with a family while they've been blowing off guys left and right.

"Okay," I sighed, nodding my head in agreement. Tentatively, I raised my fist and knocked three times on the blue front door.

"Genevieve?" Braylen James, my brother-in-law, had an expression of pure shock on his face when he opened the door.

"What?" I heard Harmony exclaim from the kitchen, followed by the telltale sound of heels clicking on the hardwood floors as my sister ran to the door and nudged him out of the way.

And then she was there, my baby sister, just standing in the doorway of her wholesome, suburban home. Her eyes locked onto me and she stood, frozen in shock, mouth slightly open in awe, staring at me like I was some sort of ghost. The expression on her face was completely unreadable.

"I . . . I should have called," was all I could think to say as she looked me over, a look of disbelief in her eyes—eyes that are the exact same shade of brown as mine. We had both inherited our mother's eyes.

My words seemed to pull her out of her trance as a look of relief washed over her face.

"Don't be silly, I'm just so glad you're here," she replied, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. "I'm so sorry, Gennie," she whispered as she squeezed all the air out of my body.

"Me too," I coughed. "But honey, I can't breathe."

"Sorry," she giggled and let me go. "Come on in. Honey, go wake Oliver up, he needs to meet his Auntie," Harmony told her husband.

"But it's not –"

"I know it's not time for him to wake up yet, but I'm making an exception. Go," she rolled her eyes at him while basically dragging me into her living room.

"So what are you doing back in Santa Barbara?" she asked me as Braylen jogged up the stairs to their son's room.

"I moved back," I shrugged nonchalantly. Moving really wasn't that big of a deal, at least to me. I'd moved several times, always on a whim. "Vegas got old quick."

"You were in Vegas? Last I heard you were in Maine!"

"Well, I _was _until around New Years two years ago. I went to Seattle after that, and I stayed there until last December, and then I've been in Vegas for the past six months. I got here early yesterday morning, met the guys from the furniture place, and I've been unpacking and organizing all night with Sheldon."

"Sheldon? Who's Sheldon? Did you finally find your elusive Darcy?" Harmony asked excitedly, her eyes lighting up in delight.

"Whoa, easy there," I laughed and held up my hands in a stopping gesture. "No, Sheldon is my dog. I met a Wolfhound breeder in Maine and she gave him to me because no one else was buying him and she likes my books."

"Oh my god, you got a wolfhound? As in those giant dogs we would always see at Irish Fest?" she looked at me warily.

"Oh, he's a big lap dog," I waved her off. "As long as I walk him every day and I don't leave him alone for too long, he's a perfect angel."

"Oh I know you can handle him, I just think you might be making the transformation to crazy dog lady," she teased, elbowing my ribs slightly.

"Shut up," I snorted and elbowed her back.

We both laughed before trailing off into a silence. I took the opportunity to look around the room I was in. Like me, my sister tended to live in a state of controlled chaos, with nothing necessarily dirty, just cluttered. In my case, 'clutter' took the form of loose papers and books in various stages of being read. In her case, it was toy cars, dinosaurs, and her various CDs (she had cases on her coffee table that ranged from the _Wicked _soundtrack, to Ke$ha, to Bring Me the Horizon, to Cobra Starship).

I also noticed a very familiar book sitting on her table. Purple and black cover with a photo of a girl with brown hair and a bandage on her arm with a gun in her other hand decorating the front. The title was printed on the side. _Running with Guns: Book Three of the Dark Detectives Series, by Quinn Monroe._

Quinn Monroe is my penname, Quinn being my middle name, and Monroe my mother's maiden name.

"You've been reading my books?" my voice came out as a surprised whisper as I leaned forward and grabbed the book from the coffee table, turning it in my hands.

"Yeah . . ." Harmony trailed off awkwardly and grabbed the book from me. "They're really good, Gennie."

"Thanks," I mumbled, not sure how to respond.

"Here comes the monster man," Braylen announced, coming back down the stairs with a little boy on his hip.

"Come here, baby," Harmony held out her arms and pulled the boy from her husband and onto her lap. "Ollie, baby, this is your Aunt Genevieve."

Oliver was two now, I knew that much. He was just a new guy when I last saw him. He hadn't even learned to smile yet. But now, he smiled at my sister as soon as he saw her, as if she were the most marvelous thing in the entire universe. Even with his thumb in his mouth, his smile lit up the room. He had the thick dark hair and the honey brown eyes that ran in the Monroe side of the family. But from Braylen, he had gotten an adorable little button nose and bone structure many people would consider killing for. He was the most beautiful child I had ever seen and I had to suppress another pang of jealousy for Harmony. I wanted to be a mother even more than I wanted my own Darcy.

"Oh, look how handsome you've gotten," I gasped and tears sprang to my eyes. "I haven't seen you since you were just a little guy!" I let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a sob.

"Hi," he mumbled over the thumb that was still stuck firmly in his mouth as he waved with his free hand.

"He is too cute," I rubbed at my eyes and then looked up to smile at Harmony.

"So does Mom know you're back?" she asked, rubbing her hand gently over Oliver's back as he started to fall back to sleep on her shoulder.

"Eh, not exactly . . . no," I admitted hesitantly. "You know how she is. I go by, only wanting to be there ten minutes, she lures me in and before I know it I've been there an hour, my self-esteem has dropped ten levels, and when I get home Sheldon will have gotten upset and torn up the couch."

"Well don't wait too long. She won't be happy if you go a week and don't tell her you came home," Harmony warned me.

"You won't tell her, will you?" I asked quickly.

"No, I'll leave that up to you," she replied. "So are you just heading home after this?"

"No, first I think I'm going to drop in on Lauren really quick since her place is on the way back to my apartment."

"Lauren Lassiter?" she asked, looking somewhat surprised. "I didn't know you kept in contact with her."

"She's my best friend, of course I still talk to her," I laughed slightly as we both stood.

"I actually talked to her a few weeks ago. Did you know she has a brother?" I chose to ignore the suggestive look in her eyes.

"She has two," I nodded. "One lives here in Santa Barbara –Carlton, I think his name is – he's head detective at the SBPD. And then there's another one, but she never talks about him much.

"Well, this Carlton could be right up your alley-you do have a thing for cops," Harmony commented, the last part in a singsong voice as she led me to the door, Oliver now wide awake on her hip.

"No, Maureen, a fictional character, has a thing for cops. Maybe _she_ should date him," I suggested and rolled my eyes.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" Harmony requested as she gave me a one-armed hug.

"I won't" I gave her a half-smile and ruffled Oliver's hair. "I'll see you later, handsome," I shot him a teasing wink and laughed when he giggled, hiding his face in Harmony's shoulder. "Bye."

"Bye, Gen. Tell Lauren I say hi."

Once I was in the car and back on the road, I decided to give Lauren a warning instead of just showing up on her doorstep. I dug my cell from my pocket and turned the speakerphone setting on, punching speed dial three (one and two are my mother and sister) before finally letting the device rest in my lap.

"Hey Quinn," Lauren answered on the third ring. "What's up?"

"Not much, I was just wondering what you were doing."

"My brother came over for lunch. Why?"

"Because I moved back to Santa Barbara and I was gonna stop by. But since you're busy I can-"

"No, no, don't be ridiculous! Come on over, it's fine," she interrupted me excitedly. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?"

"It was a spur of the moment kind of thing," I shrugged even though she couldn't see it.

I could hear Lauren release a sigh that was somewhere between incredulity and resignation. She knows me too well to be completely surprised. "How spur of the moment?"

"I didn't decide until three days ago," I laughed. I could just picture her rolling her eyes at me. "I spent the first day looking at apartments online, the next day I called movers to take care of furniture and the heavier boxes, and I spent all day yesterday driving, and then Sheldon and I spent all night unpacking."

"And I'm assuming, in typical Quinn style, you haven't slept at all in that time," she added, her tone a combination of amusement and exasperation.

"I took a nap on my couch before I started unpacking," I offered weakly, knowing it wouldn't do much to appease her.

"You're insane," she sighed. "Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because you_ love _me," I answered in a sing-song voice.

"Unfortunately, yes," she laughed. "How far away are you?"

"I just left my sister's, so like ten minutes?" I guessed.

"Alright, see you in ten."

"See you in ten," I confirmed before hanging up.

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><p><strong>So sorry it's taken me a while to update! I just started at university not that long ago, so things have been a bit hectic as of late. But I did the best I could, and my beta has been a huge help as well, so hopefully you enjoyed this one! Thank you to everyone that review the intorduction, and thanks in advance to those who will choose to do so for this chapter. You guys are so awesome! And please, feel free to pimp this story out and spread the Lassie-love (;<strong>

**Until next time, Meagan**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! So here's chapter two for you, and you finally get to see some Lassie! Yayyy! But I would like to say sorry for the fact that it takes me so long to update. Both me and my beta have all kinds of craziness going on right now, so we aren't working as fast as I'd like, but we're doing the best we can! But thank you to every one who has reviewed/subscribed/favorited, and extra thanks to all of you for being so patient with me!**

**Okay, I'll shut up now and let you guys get on with the chapter :)**

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><p><strong>Mr. Darcy<br>Chapter Two: Cold Shoulder**

I had barely made it out of my car before I felt Lauren's arms wrap around me with a vice-like grip. Apparently people really like trying to suffocate me—Either that or I am just a weakling that can't stand up under firm hugs. But for the sake of my vanity, I'll go with that first choice.

"I missed you too, Lauren, but I've already been suffocated once today," I laughed and hugged her back once she loosened her grip.

I cast a look over her shoulder and saw a man standing in her doorway, watching us with a look somewhere between irritation and indifference. The lines on his face told me that he probably looked at people like that a lot. Aside from the look on his face he was a fairly handsome man. He was tall and thin, but obviously strong. He was probably in his mid to late thirties, but he looked a little older – probably a result of being on the police force for so long (my father had been a cop, so I knew how the job could take its toll). His hair was salt and pepper – heavy on the salt, once again probably due to the job – and even from the distance I could see the electric blue of his eyes.

Conclusion: Extremely attractive. Let me put it this way: if he weren't Lauren's brother, and if he met the qualifications . . . well, you get where I'm going with this.

Following my gaze, Lauren let me go only to grab my wrist and drag me up the front walk towards him.

"Carlton, this is Genevieve Taylor – I call her Quinn, though. Quinn, this is my big brother Carlton."

"HI," I greeted him, smiling as we shook hands.

"Hi," he replied, nodding slightly before letting go of my hand. He barely even looked at me. Talk about a cold demeanor. All his attention was on Lauren, as if I wasn't even there. "Sorry, Lulu, but I have to go to work."

"But it's your birthday! We were supposed to hang out today," Lauren protested.

"I have a double homicide on my hands, I have to go," he explained to her and hugged her quickly before heading for his car.

I don't know why, but part of me wanted to say something to him – I don't know what, anything really –while the other part of me was yelling at myself to run back to my own car and get as far away from him as possible.

Lauren let out a sigh, watching him leave before turning to smile at me. "Well, since I don't have any more plans, let's go see that new apartment of yours."

**OooOOooO**

"You are insane, woman," Lauren reminded me, shaking her head as soon as I opened the door. "There isn't a box in sight; it looks like you've been living here for weeks, not days."

I let out a shrug and gestured for her to go in. "I had coffee and a lot of free time. There was no point in waiting to get it all finished."

"Yeah, 'cause who needs sleep anyway?" she asked sarcastically before shooting me a teasing wink. "Well where's this giant dog I've heard so much about?"

"Probably taking a nap somewhere," I laughed. "Sheldon, Mommy's home! Come here, Moosie-face!" I called out.

Within seconds I could hear my baby galloping down the hallway. As soon as I was in his sights he sped up, coming at me as fast as he could, and knocked me to the ground.

"Oh my God," Lauren exclaimed and looked down at me, eyes wide as Sheldon attacked my face with slobbery kisses.

"Oh, it's okay, Lauren, I'm used to it. Yes, thank you, Moose. I missed you, too. Thank you for the kisses. Mommy loves you too, baby, but you have to let me up. There, that's a good boy." Finally Sheldon removed his paws from my shoulders and I was able to return to a standing position.

"You aren't kidding when you call him Moose," Lauren laughed as she followed me to the kitchen. "How much does that dog weigh?"

"Uhm, I think they told me one-fifty-five when I took him to the groomer last month."

"You do realize that means he's bigger than you?"

"Psh," I scoffed.

But she was right: Sheldon had thirty pounds on me (during a good week, that is. Twenty-five following period-induced binge eating). Also, he's over a foot taller than me when he stands on his hind legs. But thankfully he is aware of how big he is, for the most part. He knows he's not allowed to jump on anyone but me, and he's always gentle around little kids and smaller animals. Just because he's big doesn't mean he hasn't been trained to be a good boy.

"I feel the need to say it again: you are insane," she smiled and shook her head at me.

"But that's why you love me!" I exclaimed enthusiastically. "So anyway, do you wanna hang out and do one of our movie marathons? I can make dinner!"

"Oh, you cook now? And yeah, that sounds great," Lauren agreed, taking a seat on the couch. Having calmed down significantly since greeting me, Sheldon climbed up and laid next to her, resting his head on her thigh.

"Awesome, Chinese or pizza?" I asked, half-joking.

When I say "cook", that generally translates to either "microwave" or "carry out." While Maureen may be great at following recipes and cooking for her boyfriend about-to-be-fiancé, Detective Tim Collins, I couldn't make spaghetti if my life depended on it. For someone that came out of my imagination, Maureen is really nothing like me.

**OooOOooO**

The next day it was back to just me and Sheldon. I knew I probably should've taken the opportunity to go see Mom, but I decided against it. Ideas started flowing the second I got out of bed and I knew I needed to start writing or they would be lost forever. Besides, I woke up at 4:30 - thanks to my upstairs neighbors and their lovely fighting – and I don't think she'd appreciate me dropping in before the sun came up.

I wrote for a solid hour before Sheldon decided he wasn't going to have it anymore.

Whenever Sheldon wants my attention, he goes through five steps. First, he sits as close to my desk chair as possible, whining while looking at me with those sad puppy-eyes of his. Then, he'll find a way to inch in even closer and he'll sit his head on my leg. After that, he starts whining again and keeps going until I stop typing and look down at him. Once I ask him what's wrong, he lifts his head up, slams it back down, and then he whines again. "Do you need to go on a walk?" I'll ask. In response, he always grabs part of my t-shirt in his teeth and literally pulls me out of the chair, out of my office, and towards the front door.

"Maybe Lauren was right, it wasn't my best idea to get a dog that is both bigger and stronger than me," I said teasingly this particular morning, grabbing his leash off the hook next to the door and hooking it onto his collar.

Sheldon let out an excited bark and gave me a look that said, "Come on Mommy! Let's go! You said walk! Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!"

"Yes, I know, we're going," I told him patiently and slid my shoes on. I grabbed my keys before finally heading out.

We walked almost thirty minutes – I lost count of how many blocks away we were from the apartment complex – before something caught Sheldon's eye. At the time I had no idea why, but he decided to take off running. I was instantly being dragged, moving my legs as fast as possible to keep from getting knocked on my ass.

"Sheldon, what's the matter with you?" I tried to yell, but it was difficult considering how hard my lungs were working to just keep me breathing in general. I don't do a lot of running, so it takes forever for my heart and lungs to return to their normal pace after sprinting, making it exceptionally irritating when Sheldon does this.

Eventually, he caught what it was he wanted: A man who was apparently on his morning jog.

"Sheldon, no!" I yelled again. But it was too late. He put on one last burst of speed and the leash flew out of my hand, freeing Sheldon to jump on the man.

As expected, the man began cursing as soon as Sheldon hit him. Sheldon, however, paid him no mind and instantly began licking his face. You'd think he'd known the man since he was a puppy.

"Sheldon, no! Get off of him right now," I commanded breathlessly. My dog shifted so I could see who it was that he'd assaulted, and a new wave of horror washed over me. "Oh my God, Carlton! I am so sorry! I swear he never does this – well, not to anyone but me."

He looked even unhappier than he had looked yesterday as I yanked the still-excited Sheldon off of him. I will say that he did look pretty attractive in his work out clothes. The t-shirt he was wearing definitely showed off his muscles better than the suit he'd worn the day before.

And oh my God, I was not thinking that way about my best friend's brother. No. It wasn't allowed to happen.

"I am so sorry," I repeated myself over and over again, struggling to restrain Sheldon as he stood up.

"Yeah, you already said that," he replied. "Did it ever cross your mind to get a dog that doesn't outweigh you?"

Instantly the guilty feeling – and the attraction – was gone. It's one thing for a person to make jokes as long as they aren't seriously being mean. But no one says bad things about my dog.

"I said I was sorry and he never does this. Normally he knows better than to run off or to jump on people. I don't know why he did it, but he didn't mean any harm. He's a good boy, and he was just trying to say hi." I tried my best to keep my temper under control, but the same thought kept going through my head:

If he wasn't Lauren's brother, and if he wasn't a cop . . .

Even my own brain didn't want to consider what I might do if I lost my temper.

"What does he want with me, anyway?" Carlton asked, casting a judgmental look down at Sheldon, who just looked back up at him happily.

"I don't know," I scoffed. "He just decided he likes you for some reason."

Hearing the irritation in my voice, Sheldon began to look extremely confused. I started feeling guilty again. I don't like when my baby isn't happy.

"Oh," Carlton looked taken aback before he smiled slightly and scratched Sheldon on the head. The excitement immediately returned to my dog and he let out a happy bark. "You know it's weird, animals usually don't like me," Carlton told me as he knelt down and continued petting Sheldon, who decided it was appropriate to lick his new friend's face. I just laughed and shook my head.

"Sheldon, you are . . . one of a kind," I told him with another laugh as Carlton stood up.

"Wait, do I know you?" he asked me before we could part ways.

I sighed, irritated yet again. For only having met me twice, he certainly had managed to get under my skin.

"We met yesterday when I went to visit Lauren. You had to go to work and you barely even acknowledged that I was there," I reminded him.

"Oh, right," he nodded, making a face as he searched his memory. "Quinn, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded, feeling exceptionally awkward.

Just like the day before, I felt an urge to run the other way every time I looked at him. "I'll, uh, I'll just let you get back to your run." I tightened my grip on Sheldon's leash and quickly turned, leading him back the way we had come.


	4. Chapter 3

**Mr. Darcy  
>Chapter Three: I've Got You Under My Skin<strong>

After getting back home, I got right back into my flow—that wonderful feeling that just about every author experiences at one point or another. The kind of flow that picks up its own energy, independent of the writer, and the words come onto paper without her even thinking of them. The story takes its own path, going in whatever direction is natural. For me, that's when all my best things are written. When I'm in my flow. I once wrote three chapters in one sitting when I was hit with that feeling. Those ended up being the first three chapters of the first _Dark Detective_ novel.

But all good flows eventually come to an end. This time, it was because Maureen had to come out of the corner of my mind just to open her big mouth. I hate her, sometimes, as much as she is a part of me.

Actually . . . that's probably _why_ I hate her. But that's neither here nor there. And it's really not something I need to dwell on right now.

"Hey, Genevieve," she spoke up; I could almost feel her tapping on my shoulder to get my attention.

"Yes?" I sighed, talking out loud. It's not like there was anyone else to hear me but Sheldon, so why not? "You're kind of interrupting something here." Looking at the screen I realized that I was at a scene in which Tim and Maureen bust into the suspect's apartment to search for clues as to who the next victim might be.

Then I spotted what Maureen was showing me. A typo. A very, very horrific typo.

"Last time I checked, I was dating _Tim _not _Carlton_," she pointed out, a slightly snarky tone to her voice.

"Shut up, Maureen," I grumbled, embarrassed by my mix up. Quickly I hit the button to replace words and changed _Carlton_ back to_ Tim._ I had apparently made the mistake fifteen times before Maureen finally pointed it out.

I tried to get back into the flow, but it wasn't going to happen. Thanks to Maureen and her ability to notice things I always missed, all I could think about was Carlton Lassiter.

I don't know why. It's not like he had done anything truly exceptional. The only thing remarkable he had done was make me consider assaulting a police officer. What is with that attitude of his anyway? It's like he goes out of his way just to be an ass.

Then the writer side of me kicked in and began analyzing his behavior, trying to build a plot around the little bit of his life that Lauren had told me.

I already knew he was divorced after a nasty, drawn out separation. Obviously that would leave him bitter. And paranoia and suspicion of others kind of comes with the territory of being a cop. _So that naturally cynical attitude was amplified after the divorce_, I theorized as I spun lazily in my desk chair. _Then after what happened with what's-her-name, his ex-wife – Victoria or something like that – he lost all faith in people, women especially, and now he's afraid to get close to anybody. That's why he won't even let himself look at me. I didn't do anything wrong. He's just wounded and overly cautious._

I sighed, realizing how pretentious I would have sounded were I to voice that theory to anyone else. I meet a guy twice and I act like I know him. Letting out another sigh, I stopped spinning in the chair and looked across the room to where Sheldon was half-asleep on the floor. "Moose, I need a new hobby," I confided in him before rising up to go to the kitchen. This mood could only be improved by a _Family Ties_ marathon and a binge on left-over Chinese food.

**OooO Carlton OooO**

Downtime at the station is rare – especially on days when Spencer decides to come down and spew that 'psychic' crap. But sometimes, downtime does pop up. And some just happened to pop up this particular morning. Probably because I had come in an hour earlier than usual. Not like I had anything better to do—those incompetent repairmen the cable company sent over had erased all the episodes of _Cops_ off my DVR. As I remembered that fact, I jotted down a reminder to myself to send them yet another of my strongly worded letters.

The reports for the double homicide hadn't taken as long as I had been hoping—after my run in with that girl and her dog, I didn't want downtime because I didn't want to think about her. But I finished the reports too quickly, and downtime had found its way into my day in spite of my efforts to prevent it. I was hoping to go talk to O'Hara – I'm sure she'd have something to chatter on about that would keep me from thinking about Quinn – but she was busy with her own paperwork. Henry Spencer had arrived as well, but I'm not a huge fan of conversations with him (although he is still preferable to his son).

I continued trying to find something to do, but to no avail. Before I could stop it, the run in with Quinn and her dog – Sheldon? I think that's what she called him –had wormed its way into my brain and I found myself playing the incident over again in my head.

Had that happened with anyone else, their name would have immediately gone down on the Crap List. But for some reason, I still hadn't put her name down. Even though she was the most infuriating woman I had ever met. How the hell could she have gotten under my skin so quickly?

I don't think I ever even got like this when I was dating Vic-

No. I'm not letting myself go there.

Desperate for distraction, I opened the Internet. I cringed as soon as the homepage popped up, showing the top news stories. Spencer and Guster were flashing frozen smiles at me from the screen, the headline advertising, 'PSYCHIC SLEUTH AND PARTNER TIE UP ANOTHER INVESTIGATION!' Once again, they were getting all the credit while all of my hours of hard work went ignored. How do they do it? Every. Damn. Time.

Wanting them off my screen, I hit a random link in the toolbar and ended up on one of the many search engines offered on the web. Before I could stop myself, I brought up the yellow pages website.

What was her real name again? I know Quinn isn't it – that's just what Lauren calls her. Maybe that's her middle name or something, but it's not her first name, I remember that much.

Why do I even care?

Damn it, what was it Lauren had said?

I closed my eyes as I tried to think.

"_Carlton, this is Genevieve Taylor."_

Rational thought left me and I typed her name in. For what reason? I have no clue. Why did I even want to know? It's not like she made any type of impact on me. Other than making me want to spend an extra few hours at the shooting range after work today.

215 women named Genevieve Taylor currently living in the United States. I narrowed it down to California, but apparently 68 of those 215 had decided to live in California, and twenty of them were within Quinn's age range. Hopefully I was right in guessing Quinn was her middle name . . .

I typed in the middle name and narrowed my search again. And I was right!

_Genevieve Quinn Taylor DOB: 12/20/1983_

With this new information, I opened one of the department's databases and filled in the required fields. A little background check couldn't hurt.

The only time her name showed up in the system was when she had filed a complaint that someone was stalking her back in '05. The guy was arrested, made bail, and then killed himself before the trial could start.

"Lassie! I'm shocked!" Shawn Spencer's voice came from behind me, making me grind my teeth.

"Go away, Spencer," I growled and closed out all the pages that I had opened.

"But Lassie, isn't using department resources for personal reasons a big no-no?" he went on, that obnoxious smirk on his face. One of these days, I'm going to snap and shoot him. But I try to resist, reminding myself that my partner is dating him. The thought gives me nausea and I push it away.

"Shouldn't you be irritating O'Hara?" I snapped.

"But Carly-town, I came over here specifically to irritate you!"

"Wait a minute," Guster cut in, "Were you searching for the person I think you were searching for?"

"What are you talking about, Guster?" I sighed. _Today is going to be a long day_, I thought and shook my head.

"Genevieve Taylor?" he asked. I snapped my head up and looked at him.

"How do you know her?" I asked quickly.

"That's the birth name of Quinn Monroe!"

"Gus, literally no one knows what you're talking about," Spencer said.

"I do," Juliet joined in on the nonsense and came to stand by Spencer's side.

"So do I," Henry added, not even looking up from his own computer screen.

"Really, Dad?" Spencer threw his hands up. I tried my best to block him out and I focused on Guster and Juliet.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, looking between the two of them.

"Quinn Monroe is the author of the _Dark Detectives _series. There are three out now, and the fourth and final one is coming out this fall," Guster explained.

I rolled my eyes. It's probably just like those stupid vampire books that Victoria used to read. Ridiculous crap that only lonely idiots waste their time reading.

"Are they any good?" I asked, for the most part expecting to get a 'no'. I had only seen her twice, but I certainly didn't get the feeling that she really had any type of talent. Other than unknowingly turning my day upside down. Just like a woman.

"Are you kidding?" Guster looked taken aback. "It's my favorite series; I already pre-ordered my copy of the next book."

"Oh my God, Gus," Spencer sighed, "I totally just lost all respect for you."

"Hey, I read them too," Juliet objected. "They actually are really good, Carlton – and her depiction of police work is actually fairly accurate for a fiction series. You would probably even like them."

"I doubt that," I sneered. "What the hell is everyone doing at my desk?" I finally lost my temper. I needed to be alone. Or at the very least away from Spencer.

And away from anything that would make me think of Genevieve Taylor.

I had what felt like fewer than five seconds of peace before a call came in. Shots fired in an apartment complex uptown, one reported dead by first responders, another wounded as the assailant ran from the building. Just the thing to take my mind off of that girl and her ridiculously oversized dog.

**OooO Genevieve OooO**

"Sheldon," I called to my dog in a sing-song voice. The end credits were rolling on the fifth episode I had watched in a row and I was growing restless. Part of me wanted to take another walk, but Sheldon was sound asleep, taking up two thirds of the couch. I draped my legs over his furry body and nudged his head slightly with my toe. "Puppy dog, wake up," I groaned this time. I really need to hang out with more humans.

At first he just looked at me before curling himself up just a little bit tighter, snuggling into the cushions. Then, out of nowhere, he snapped his head up and began snarling at the ceiling.

"What is wrong with you, crazy?" I started to ask. But I was interrupted halfway through as three loud bangs came from above me. It brought me back to when I had begun researching for the first _Detectives_ book. I had spent about three weeks going to the shooting range every day, learning about different kinds of guns and how to use them so that I would get my facts and descriptions just right. The sound I heard sounded like a revolver.

My first instinct was to reach for the phone and call the police – what I probably should have done. But unfortunately, my dog is a good escape artist. While I was reaching for the phone, he was pawing at the door knob. And since my instincts are almost maternal when it comes to my dog, I dropped the phone and ran after him. I managed to get in front of him to keep him from going up the stairs, where the shots had come from.

I was lucky not to be shot.

A man dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt and dark wash jeans came barreling down the steps just as I was about to scold Sheldon for running out. I was pushed to the side. My head made a _thwack_ sound as it hit the brick lined wall, and Sheldon tried to lunge at the runner. My vision was out of focus, but I heard another shot followed by a loud whimpering.

"Sheldon," I yelled and tried to walk to him. I lost my balance immediately and crawled the rest of the way toward him. There was blood on the floor and I forced myself to focus enough so I could see where it was coming from.

"Oh, my poor baby," I cried. I pulled my own sweatshirt off and pressed it over the wound in his right hind leg. He whimpered again, but I held it in place. I kept one hand on the dampening cloth – well, I tried. But things were getting fuzzy again and I was having a hard time staying clear enough to remember to maintain the pressure. But I used my other hand to slowly stroke his head, comforting both Sheldon and myself as I prayed that someone else had remembered to call 911.

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><p><strong>So sorry for the delay everyone! I've been super busy with the end of semester and then with the holidays, but I've got the chapter done at last! Once again I owe a huge thanks to my beta, Olivia. I don't know if I would've had the courage to attempt Lassiter's point of view if it wasn't for her support and helpful tips. And thanks to all of you for continuing to read this and for being so patient with me.<strong>

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and since I am on break the next chapter should be done much faster.**

**Love, Meagan**


	5. Chapter 4

**Once again I need to thank you guys for being so patient with me. I know it's frustrating when someone (i.e. me) takes forever to update. But I really want my chapters to be as good as they can be, so that takes a few weeks to begin with. And with things at school, I have to worry about studying and projects and school papers as well. But I promise you that I have no plans of stopping this story, no matter how busy I get. I love working on it too much, I could never abandon Carlton and Genevieve.**

**Anyway, here's the new chapter, hot off the word processor! I hope you enjoy it!**

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><p><strong>Mr. Darcy<br>Chapter Four: You Got Me Crying Again**

This probably isn't something most people consider normal, but I always find that I'm most relaxed on my way to a crime scene. Once I get into the car with O'Hara, I know that soon I'll be somewhere where I can just forget about whatever is bothering me at the time. On this particular day, I was looking forward to not thinking about Genevieve Taylor. Not thinking about her dog. And not thinking about why I had been thinking about her so much.

I should've remembered the lesson I had learned while I was married to Victoria: When it comes to women, one should always expect the worst-case scenario. Genevieve, it seemed, was no exception.

"Oh hell," I grumbled to myself once I arrived at the crime scene.

My day just kept getting worse. Maybe I really pissed someone off and this was an elaborate prank to get back at me.

Genevieve was there. She must have been the injured witness that was mentioned when we were called in.

From my right I heard O'Hara gasp as she nudged me with her elbow. "Carlton, that's her. The writer, the one you were looking up on your computer."

"Really, O'Hara? I had no idea," I rolled my eyes at her and began walking ahead. I just wanted the case wrapped up as fast as possible.

"Alright, get out of here for a minute and let me talk to my witness," I snapped at the medic who was placing a bandage on the side of Genevieve's head.

Once he was gone I addressed her. "What happened?"

Something in my tone made her snap her head up and look at me. And, of course, she'd been crying. _Today just keeps getting better,_ I thought. Part of me wondered if I had been killed in my sleep and was in my own personal hell. I huffed and tried to relax my tone as I repeated the question. I was unsuccessful.

To my surprise she didn't start crying again – that's what I had been taught to expect from Victoria, who would either cry harder or storm out – but instead Genevieve got a hard look in her eyes. I was actually kind of impressed—not that I'd ever tell anyone that.

"Don't you dare yell at me, Carlton Lassiter," she growled. "My head is killing me and my dog's been shot, so I really don't want to deal with your attitude right now!"

And there's the guilt trip. I should've seen that coming.

"Look, just tell me what happened and neither one of us will have to deal with the other anymore," I snapped at her.

She sighed, glared at me a moment longer, and then looked down at her hands as she spoke. Her voice was shaking and quickly lost its sharp tone. "I was sitting on the couch with Sheldon when I heard the shots from upstairs. Sheldon freaked out—I tried to stop him, but he ran out into the hall. I followed him and stopped him at the stairs. A man came running down and pushed me into the wall – that's when I hit my head. Sheldon was trying to protect me and the guy shot him in the back leg."

She paused and wiped her face. She still wouldn't look back up at me. Part of me almost felt bad. I made a mental note to try to never feel that way again, especially when it came to Genevieve.

"Anyway . . . the couple next door to me came out to see what was going on. They're the ones that called 911."

"Anything else?" I asked, looking at O'Hara and wishing I had chosen to question the neighbors instead. Why had I walked over to Genevieve? I knew it would only agitate me more . . . Maybe I really am in hell. "Can you describe this man at all?"

"Uhm . . . he was wearing a black sweatshirt and dark-wash jeans. And I didn't get a great look – everything was kind of out of focus after I hit my head – but from the little I did manage to see and hear, I'm pretty sure he was using a semi-automatic pistol."

"You're familiar with guns?" She had managed to surprise me once again.

"Before I started writing my first book I spent a few weeks getting lessons at a shooting range. I wanted my descriptions to be as accurate as possible."

She was shifting around uncomfortably as if she thought that was something to be ashamed of. No other woman had ever seemed as confusing to me as she had managed to. It was like she was going out of her way to confuse and irritate me as much as was humanly possible.

I cleared my throat. "Right, well, good for you." I looked around, trying to find a reason to walk away from the hole I'd dug for myself by talking to her. I saw McNab pull up in his cruiser. Excellent. I yelled for him and he ran up immediately. As usual, he looked overly enthusiastic. "McNab, finish getting her statement while I take a look at the crime scene."

**OooO Genevieve OooO**

"Is he always like that?" I finally asked once Carlton walked away.

Officer McNab looked at me innocently and shrugged. "He's head detective, so he's usually pretty tense . . ."

"You don't have to defend him, I promise I won't tell. This is the third time I've met the guy and he's been a complete ass each time."

Okay, I may have exaggerated a little. The first few times he was more stand-offish than anything. But the way he had just talked to me . . .

I shook my head and sighed. The officer just shrugged again and offered me a kind smile.

"Would you be okay with coming to the station to give us your official statement?"

"Will it take long?" I was starting to feel worried again. After first responders came, one of them had taken Sheldon to the vet to be taken care of. All I wanted to do was get down there and make sure he was okay.

"No," he reassured me quickly when he saw the look on my face. "You just have to write it out and sign it."

"Good thing I write fast then," I tried to joke, but it came out flat. We were silent as he helped me stand up and led me over to his cruiser.

**OooOOooO**

It took me about twenty minutes to get my statement down. I probably gave them a little more detail than they wanted, but I figured it couldn't hurt to give in to my writer side. Plus, it would probably be more helpful that way anyway. It was a lot easier to recall the events without Carlton Lassiter's eyes on me the entire time.

After I had signed my statement, Officer McNab offered to give me a ride to the veterinary clinic that Sheldon had been taken to. I was glad he had shown up on the scene – I don't want to think about what it would have been like being stuck with Detective Lassiter.

Once McNab – I found out that his first name was Buzz while we talked on the car ride to the vet – had dropped me off, I ran inside to interrogate the man at the front desk. He told me that Sheldon was fine, but they had needed to put him under anesthesia to remove the bullet, and it would probably be a little while before he was up and ready to go home. They told me I could go home and wait, and that they'd call me when he was ready, but I decided to wait in the lobby. I wanted to be as close to him as possible. And besides, I really didn't want to be at home while the apartment upstairs was still a crime scene.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, I decided it was as good a time as any to finally call my mother.

"Hello?" she sounded confused as she answered the phone.

Then I remembered I hadn't called her since before I changed my number again. Ever since the incident back in 2005 I had made it a habit to change my number every time I moved. I had yet to change it again after moving to Santa Barbara. I made a mental note to do so as soon as things calmed down.

"Mom, it's me, Gen," I told her.

I crossed, uncrossed, and then re-crossed my legs. I couldn't sit still. Talking to her again was making me nervous. I love my mom, I really do. But her temper is . . . unstable. And unfortunately, mine can be as well. So it doesn't take much for our conversations to go south.

"I'm back in Santa Barbara."

"What do you mean you're back in Santa Barbara?"

"I mean I moved back . . . for good."

"For good? You mean like you went to Maine for good? Or like you went to live in New York for good?" I could feel a fight bubbling up already.

"Mom, can we please not fight right now?" I asked, fighting off my own temper. I could fight with her another day, but not after the events of the morning. "Mom, I feel horrible enough as it is, I really don't want us being upset with each other."

"What happened?" Like a switch, her tone switched from irritation to concern. "Gennie, did you get hurt?"

"No . . . I mean not badly." I was about to tell her about Sheldon when she interrupted me.

"How badly is _not badly_?"

"I just have a bump on the head, but do you remember when I told you I got a dog?"

"Yes, one of those Irish Wolfhounds you always liked. What about it?" She was edging her way towards irritated again.

"Well, Sheldon tried to protect me after the guy pushed me into the wall and the guy shot him and . . . and . . ." My words were starting to get jumbled up in my head and I felt like I was going to start crying again.

"Gennie, slow down, I can't understand you. Now just tell me where you are and you can tell me when I get there."

I almost told her she didn't have to bother coming all the way down. But I knew she'd already made up her mind and there would be no talking her out of it. Besides, I'd need someone to come pick me up anyway. My car was still back at the apartment complex. So I thanked her instead and told her where I was. We both hung up and then I went back to my worrying in silence.

It took her fewer than ten minutes to get to me. It should have been twenty to get to the vet from her house. I shuddered at the thought of how many traffic violations she had probably committed.

But that's the way Mom has always been. When she's determined nothing can stop her. Unfortunately that was the one trait I had never gotten from her. I had spent the better part of the decade running from my problems – a fact Mom always strived to point out to me every time we talked for more than ten minutes.

"Gennie," she sighed in relief and pulled me into a hug once she saw I was in one piece.

I noticed her eyes linger on the bandage on the side of my head and slowly she raised her hand to touch it. I tried not to wince as I felt her fingertips resting on top of the bandage, but I must have done it anyway because she dropped her hand almost instantly.

She sighed again and grabbed my hand as we both sat down. "Tell me what happened, Gennie."

By the time I finished telling her the story, one of the techs had come out with Sheldon.

"Aw, my baby," I cooed and leaned down to him. Immediately he began kissing my face and his eyes lit up. "Yes, you give such good kisses! You're Mommy's good little baby! Thank you for trying to protect me buddy. You're such a good boy."

Sheldon let out a happy bark in response. I stood back up and looked at the tech. "Thank you for taking care of him for me," I smiled at her.

"Oh it's no problem, he really is a sweet boy. Even when he first got here and he was hurt it was all we could do to keep him from licking us to death. Now, the doctor wants him taking these," she handed me a small bottle of pills, a roll of bandages, and ointment, "Those are for the pain, give him one every twelve hours for the next few days, and you should change his bandages and apply ointment to the wound each morning. And just try to make sure he doesn't overdo it. He needs rest to make sure it heals quickly."

"Great," I nodded and smiled down at Sheldon who had wandered over to sniff at one of the other dogs in the waiting room. "So he's good to go?"

"Yes, all you've got to do now is sign him out."

**OooOOooO**

"Mom, I don't know if I can go back in there," I said as she pulled into a space in my building's parking lot.

I knew the guy was long gone and both Sheldon and I were fine, but I couldn't stop the anxiety building up in my chest. Someone had been murdered in the apartment above mine, and then the killer had run downstairs and hurt both me and my dog on the way out.

"You never face anything, do you Genevieve?" Mom huffed and looked out her window. "It's over and done with. And look, cops are still here. All you're going to do is grab some things for you and the dog, and then you're going to come stay with me. You'll be fine."

I bit back a retort. It was all I could do to stay quiet, but I really wasn't in the mood to fight. We could fight later. Instead I got out of the passenger side, reached back to pet Sheldon on the head, and then made my way back into the building. It had only been a few hours, but it felt like I hadn't been there in days.

I passed Carlton in the hall. I ducked my head to avoid any accidental eye contact and disappeared into my apartment.


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! So I just want to start out apologizing for how long this has taken me, and also for the fact that this chapter is shorter than usual. But, with the Psychotic April Workload, that any of you college-age readers are probably familiar with, and a side-order of writer's block it has been nearly impossible to try to get this done and actually worth reading. So I am really sorry, and hopefully once semester is over I will be able to update more frequently. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one!**

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><p><strong>Mr. Darcy<br>Chapter Five: Nothing in Common**

O'Hara and I had just started looking over the crime scene – luckily for me it was one of the more gruesome ones, which meant it was more distracting, which meant no thinking of _her_ – when Spencer and Guster barged in. I vowed that I would see to it that none of the uniforms tasked with keeping such unwanted pests out would ever make it to be detectives.

Just once I would like to have a case without those two nimrods showing up. They pop out from around corners and sabotage every ounce of work that I put in. I slave over crime scenes and paperwork and I spend hours interviewing witnesses and suspects, and what do I get? Nothing. Spencer shows up and spews out some nonsensical bullshit and he gets newspaper headlines.

Is it really too much to ask to have one case without them?

Apparently, it is.

"You two, get out of my crime scene right now," I told them.

"But Lassie, you called me here," Spencer protested.

"I did not. Now leave."

"Oh yes you did," Spencer smirked and held his hand up to his head, "with your mind. I believe you were having some trouble with a particular witness? As a matter of fact . . ." he held up the other hand and closed his eyes. "The witness is the same girl you were stalking on your computer this morning. Genevieve Taylor A.K.A. Quinn Monroe, bestselling author!" He looked up victoriously. I glared back and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Well done, Spencer. You can go back and play in your office now, because I don't need you on this case. Or _any _case, for that matter."

"Carlton, maybe they can help. There's usually more to domestic disputes than meets the eye," O'Hara said. She _would_ side with Spencer.

"More than what? All of the neighbors that were interviewed said that the people in this apartment had been fighting nonstop for months. Husband snaps, grabs a gun, shoots his wife. He sees what he's done, panics, and runs – running into Genevieve and her dog on the way out. All we have to do is find this Dean Williams, make the arrest, and finish the paperwork. And I highly doubt it will take us long to find Williams, and we _definitely_ won't need any psychic interference."

"Lassie, that hurts after all the times we've helped you."

My jaw clenched as I began to grind my teeth. "Fine, stay, whatever. Just don't get in my way." I was in no mood to fight with those two imbeciles any further.

**OooOOooO**

After spending a little over an hour combing over the scene and discussing some possibilities with O'Hara – all the while forcing myself to resist hitting Spencer, who seemed even more irritating than usual with his antics – I prepared to head back to the station and get a head start on some of the paper work.

I didn't even notice Genevieve at first. All I registered was the slam of a door off to the left followed by a smack in the arm from O'Hara.

"Ow! What was that for?" I snapped and glared at her. As far as I knew, I hadn't done anything to upset her.

"What did you say to that poor girl when you were talking to her?"

"Seriously, Lassie." Of course Spencer wanted to put in his two cents. "That girl nearly broke through that door trying to avoid you."

"That was Quinn Monroe," Guster said, looking almost mesmerized.

"Wow, Gus, I think you may be closing in on that next level of creepiness," Spencer told him.

I ignored Shawn and Gus and instead just answered O'Hara. "I didn't say anything . . . I was just . . . firm with her."

"Carlton," she gave me that exasperated look. Who does she think she is, my mother? "Carlton, you don't know how to 'just be firm'. You were mean to her, weren't you?"

"Who could ever be mean to someone as beautiful and talented as her?" Gus was still off in dream world, biting down on his lip. For some reason, though, those words were almost enough to make me want to reach for my gun.

Instead I shook my head and kept focus on my conversation with O'Hara. "No, I wasn't mean," I grumbled.

Deciding that that was all that needed saying, I walked ahead and went to wait for her in the car.

**OooO Genevive OooO**

I was just starting to shove some clothes into a backpack when there was a knock at the door. "Dammit," I huffed and dropped the bag. If it was Lassiter, I thought I might scream.

But it wasn't him. Instead I found myself faced with two men I'd never met before. One had good hair and an overly-charming smile that I didn't quite trust, and the other was looking at me with glazed eyes and a silly grin.

"Uhm . . . can I help you with something?" I asked. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I just wanted to get my things together and get back to the car.

"Hello, I'm Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner Winston Zeddemore. I'm a psychic with the SBPD."

I raised my eyebrow at him and laughed. That had to be the best thing I had heard all day . . . hell, the best thing since I got back to Santa Barbara.

Once I calmed down, I said, "Nice try, Mr. Spencer. I don't believe in psychics. And besides, Winston Zeddemore is the name of one of the Ghostbusters, played by Ernie Hudson. Now is that all? Because I've got to get my things together."

I had to resist the urge to laugh again at the stunned look on Shawn Spencer's face.

The one that had been sporting the dazed, school-boy-in-love look shook his head as if to clear it and then just smiled at me and held out his hand. "I'm Burton Guster, but you can call me Gus."

I nodded slowly and shook his hand. "Right, well, nice to meet you Mr. Guster . . . Gus. I'm Genevieve. And I'm sorry, but I really don't have time to be questioned again right now. I need to pack my things so I can get back to the car. My dog and my mom are waiting."

"Going somewhere?" Shawn asked, slipping past me and into my apartment.

"Sure, come on in," I sighed and then moved aside so Gus could enter as well. "And yes, I'm staying with my mother until this building is no longer playing host to the entire SBPD. And I already submitted my official statement, so any information you want you can get from that."

"I don't work with statements, Ms. Taylor, I work with people. I need to read energies at the source so that I can divine information," he spoke. His voice was as over-dramatic as his smile had been over-charming. And again, there was something about it that I didn't quite trust. It's not like I thought he was going to try to hurt me or anything, but he was definitely covering something up.

"Well, Mr. Spencer, anything you want to divine, you'll have to try and get out of Sheldon. Apparently you weren't able to _sense_ the fact that I took a hit to the head and everything I actually saw was pretty fuzzy – and it's all listed in the police report. I'm sure you can irritate Detective Lassiter enough for him to fork it over."

"You don't like Lassie very much do you?" Shawn smirked at me. I rolled my eyes. "It's okay, I know the feeling. He likes to play big, mean detective, even though I solve all of his cases for him."

Okay, I admit it. I laughed at that . . . a little.

"But who is this Sheldon? I'd like to talk to him, find out what he saw."

"Well, good luck with that. I hope you can translate barks and slobbery kisses into a solid lead," I laughed at him. Then I turned to Gus, who was looking at my bookshelf. "Something catch your eye?"

"Sorry, I was just looking at the last _Detectives_ book. Shawn ruined my copy when he spilled coffee all over it." He cast a pointed look at his friend.

"Oh, who cares? You've probably already read it a hundred times, it's not like you needed to read it again."

I ignored Shawn and smiled at Gus. Now I understood where that dazed look had come from. "I didn't realize you were a fan, Gus." I walked over and grabbed the book off the shelf and handed it to him. "Here, take my copy."

"Oh no, I couldn't do that." But the look on his face told me he didn't really mean that. He would gladly take the book if I pressed.

"No, please, have it. I wrote the thing – what do I need a copy of it for? I'll never read it. And if I wanted to, I still have the old manuscript to look at."

"Thank you," he smiled widely and then looked gloatingly over my shoulder at Shawn. "Come on, Shawn. Let's let Genevieve have some peace." He looked back at me and produced a business card from the pocket of his blue button-up shirt. "Here's our card. I've got my personal cell number written on the back."

"Thanks, Gus," I chuckled and accepted the card. "Enjoy that book."

Ignoring Shawn's protests, Gus ushered him out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. I shook my head, laughed again, and went back to packing.


End file.
